In March, against her better judgement, Hermione went on a blind date with a friend of a colleague. She'd been resisting the set up for months, but the knowledge that Ron was moving on was nagging at her and when she was shown a photo of the exceptionally handsome young man she had to admit that six months was an awfully long time to go without any male attention at all. Pushing her reservations to one side, Hermione agreed to meet him in a small restaurant in Hogsameade.

Somehow she wasn't surprised to find George waiting up when she returned to the flat that night. He put down the book he was reading and looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Well?"

She threw her hands into the air as she collapsed into her armchair with a thump. "Hideous." She admitted. He smiled a little too happily. "Mr tall-dark-and-handsome didn't quite live up to his billing?"

"Oh no," she told him as he headed for the kitchen. "He was absolutely gorgeous, no doubt about it. He was also suspiciously well-groomed and very, very eager to discuss Harry in as much detail as he possibly could all evening. Wanted to know whether he and Ginny were having any problems, and whether I'd noticed anything unusual going on in the boys dorms at Hogwarts."

George laughed and handed her a cup of tea – she never had to remind him that she switched to camomile in the evenings. "Oh dear," he told her, not sounding remotely sorry. "Pity it didn't work out."

She shrugged, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "It was always a bad idea. I got some excellent haircare advice out of it, anyway."

Living with George, Hermione grew better at reading his moods. She got to know when he needed distracting from his thoughts, when he wanted to talk about whatever was on his mind and when he just needed to be left alone. The morning after what she'd come to think of as one of his gone days she asked him a question which had been bothering her for some time.

"George?"

"Hmm?" he looked up from the oven. He always cooked breakfast after he'd had a particularly bad day – some sort of apology, she guessed.

"I was wondering… days like yesterday," she began hesitantly. They'd always just ignored the bad days in the past. "I understand that they're going to happen and everything, but I was wondering – why aren't they on the days you'd expect? Your birthday, Christmas, the anniversary of the battle… you 're upset then, obviously, but they're not your worst days."

He was silent for a while as he finished putting together the bacon sandwiches, and she began to wonder whether he was going to answer her at all. Setting a plate in front of her and sliding into his own seat, however, he spoke.

"Those days aren't just mine," he told her eventually. "Mum needs me then, and so do the others. I have to at least try to hold it together. Yesterday was the anniversary of the day we moved in here. It was a huge step – and it was only mine and Fred's."

Hermione squeezed his hand and the two of them ate in companionable silence as he mind whirled. The next day, she booked the 1st April and the next day off work, a plan beginning to form.

Hermione wasn't certain that she should go to the Burrow on George's birthday. She didn't want to intrude on the family's grief, but Molly insisted. "Don't be daft," the older woman told her, kindly. "Harry and Fleur will be there, and you're as much a part of this family as anyone."

That morning as she watched George get ready, his face a mask of pure misery, Hermione was glad to be going. She didn't want to let him out of her sight when he was like this.

The conversation around the dinner table was strained. Harry kept giving Ginny's hand reassuring squeezes, and Ron alternated between darting worried glances at his mum and his brother. Molly rushed from the room sniffling twice and everyone's eyes landed on the chair Fred would once have occupied regularly. George did what he could, twisting his lips into an approximation of a smile as he opened his presents, but it was a relief to everybody when the meal was over and people started to make excuses and head to their various homes.

As they Apparated in the living room of the flat, Hermione turned to face George, hands on her hips. "So," she said. "What now?" He looked at her in surprise and she tilted her chin to look up into his eyes.

"You've been there for everybody else today," she told him. "It's your birthday – it's Fred's birthday – and the night is young. What do you want to do? Celebrate, smash stuff, drink yourself silly, get an ill-advised tattoo… I've got tomorrow off work and I promise to go along with whatever you suggest, no matter how stupid it might be."

George's mouth worked soundlessly for moment, but then he grabbed her hand. "Thank you," he whispered.

They ended up in a packed nightclub in muggle London, sweaty and fuzzy after too many toasts to Fred to count. Hermione switched to water after a while – "Designated Apparator, about time I took a turn" she'd told him with a smile – but George kept going. The crowd pushed them closer together, and Hermione found herself pressed against George, hips grinding against his.

Smiling, she looked up at him, but the desperate need she saw in his eyes caused he smile to fade. He cupped her face and leant in to crush his mouth to hers and the noise and the crowd seemed to fade away as Hermione felt a hunger rise in her. Opening her mouth to him she felt his tongue and her arms snaked around his neck of their own accord. For a few precious moments she was nothing but heat and need, but a voice at the back of her mind dragged her to her senses and reluctantly she pulled away. She couldn't do this, couldn't take advantage of one of her best friends when he was drunk and at his most vulnerable. He looked at her intensely and she shook her head, sure he wouldn't even remember this in the morning. "Let's get you home," she said.

Back in the flat it was George's turn to pass out in the couch. Hermione sat with his head in her lap, fingers tracing the puckered seam of skin where his ear had once been, and tried her best not to relive that kiss over and over again.